


put your arms around me and the walls start breaking

by palmcitrus



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Clubbing, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Martim week: club/pub/bar, Pre-Canon, like one sentence jm mention, the boys get a bit drunk and flirt a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmcitrus/pseuds/palmcitrus
Summary: Martin just barely manages to flick the lights on in his flat before Tim trips over his own feet, nearly pulling them both down through the doorway.“Whoa, hey,” he starts, but Tim is already giggling “Sorry, sorry,” and Martin doesn’t want to wait to see if he’ll be able to make it anywhere else on his own.“How are you feeling?” he says, hoisting him up where he’s got his arm under him. “Gonna throw up? Because if so you’re going sit next to the toilet, I amnotcleaning sick out of the carpet.”Tim shakes his head, then pauses, then shrugs. “Maybe. Don’t want to though, that would besuperunattractive.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	put your arms around me and the walls start breaking

**Author's Note:**

> perks of dating one of the martim week mods is I get a free pass to submit this two days late. Martim week day 3: prompt club/pub/bar! enjoy!

Martin just barely manages to flick the lights on in his flat before Tim trips over his own feet, nearly pulling them both down through the doorway.

“Whoa, hey,” he starts, but Tim is already giggling “Sorry, sorry,” and Martin doesn’t want to wait to see if he’ll be able to make it anywhere else on his own.

“How are you feeling?” he says, hoisting him up where he’s got his arm under him. “Gonna throw up? Because if so you’re going sit next to the toilet, I am _not_ cleaning sick out of the carpet.”

Tim shakes his head, then pauses, then shrugs. “Maybe. Don’t want to though, that would be super unattractive.”

Martin laughs a little, gently pushing him towards the bathroom. “Watching you get kicked out of a pub for smashing a shot glass, though, that was obviously really attractive.”

“It was an _accident_ ,” Tim whines. “I’m _drunk._ They can’t blame me for that.”

“I think they can, actually,” Martin says, and settles down next to him on the tile bathroom floor. “Come on. Toilet.”

“Floor is cold,” Tim groans, but slides obediently to his knees and props his head up on his hand. He screws his eyes shut, presumably as a guard against the dizziness. “’M sorry I ruined your night,” he says. “Was supposed to be celebrating your birthday, and instead I get wasted like a bachelorette and make you take care of me.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Martin scoffs. “I had a fantastic night, if you didn’t notice.”

Tim smiles. “Well. Night’s not over yet, anyway,” he mumbles, and lies his head down on his hands. 

Martin’s birthday was actually yesterday, but since yesterday was a Thursday there hadn’t been much of an opportunity to really go paint the town outside of an extended lunch break trip with the archive staff to Lucky’s Ice Cream Shop down the road. Which was fun, to be sure, but not totally comfortable, since this whole archive situation was fairly new, and he has been having some conflicting feelings about his boss—nervousness? Butterflies? He’s not thinking about it. 

He’s only been working in the archives a month or so at this point, but he had known Tim before, enough to know that he could trust him with the whole CV thing. Which was really nice, actually, not having to hold that weight on his shoulders alone, and also really nice when he wanted to go to a club with a friend and not have to pretend the whole night that he was turning 35 instead of 28. 

Tim had walked him in and immediately ordered a shot each for them, followed by some mysterious but delicious purple cocktail with a sour gummy in it for Martin, and slung an arm over his shoulder.

“Okay, listen,” he had said conspiratorially. He smelled really good. “Tonight is your night, and you look extremely handsome right now, and so I am not going to complain if you decide to go home with somebody.”

“Tim,” Martin scoffed, laughing and elbowing him in the ribs. Tim flapped his arm away.

“ _However,_ ” he continued, “that does not mean I have to make it easy for you morally, because I am the one buying you all these drinks, which, according to popular culture, means I’m the only one that is allowed to take you home.”

“Wow, and here I thought you were a gentleman,” Martin said with a teasing eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you followed such misogynistic social scripts.”

“It would only be misogynistic if you were a woman,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. Come on. We dance!”

Martin had given him a matching eye-roll in return but followed obligingly, letting the protestation that he wasn’t planning on taking anyone home die on his tongue. He let Tim pull him onto the floor until they were both sweaty and Tim’s neckline had magically gone two buttons lower, and by the time he finally went to take a break, Martin was feeling light and breathless.

The lights were very flashy and colorful and the music was surprisingly good, bass thrumming through the speakers so heavily he could feel it in his cheekbones, and the floor was close-cramped enough to feel the simple unique joy of being part of a crowd without quite being claustrophobic. It was nice, and Martin was happy even just to be watching, the grin on Tim’s face lighting up in red, blue, green, pink, purple.

Of course, it hadn’t taken long for someone to take his place close to Tim after Martin left his side. She’d been blonde and very pretty and _very touchy_ with Tim, placing a hand on his arm and batting her eyelashes up at him, which—hm. 

“Shame you got us kicked out,” Martin says, trying not to let the hint of jealousy leech into his voice too much. He reaches out to brush his hair back absently. It’s still a bit sweaty at the roots, and crunchy where his product has sat for too long, but the longer he runs his fingers through it the softer it gets. “I think that lady on the dance floor was trying to take you home.”

Tim’s head snaps up, knocking Martin’s hand away, faster than is probably smart for someone trying not to throw up. “I wouldn’t have gone home with her.”

Martin’s mouth quirks up. “She bought you a drink.”

“Yeah, well, a free drink’s a free drink, but I made sure it stayed at small talk. And you were—you were talking to that guy at the bar. I would’ve rather been with you.”

Oh, yeah. Some guy with large hands and an expensive watch had come and chatted with him for a bit. He didn’t realize Tim had noticed. “You could’ve come and got me.”

“Well, I—I mean, I didn’t want to, like, cockblock you or anything,” Tim says, and Martin might be imagining the tips of his ears darkening. “I wouldn’t have actually been mad if you took someone home, you know. Besides, he seemed...nice, even if he was a little touchy.”

“ _Cockblock_ —Tim,” he splutters. “I was not hitting on him.”

“And I wasn’t hitting on her,” he replies, and when Martin meets his eyes, they’re—different, somehow, than usual, like he’s saying something that he won’t say out loud.

Martin’s not sure what to say. 

The moment passes, and Tim stands up, clapping his hands together once. 

“Okay,” he announces. “Time for a change of scenery.”

He wobbles a bit, and Martin instinctively reaches out to balance him. “Tim, I don’t know if you should be moving around so much.”

“No, come on,” he says, seeming very resolute all of a sudden. “We have to dance. The night isn’t over! It’s your birthday.”

“Technically, it’s 12:43,” Martin says, but Tim is already pulling him to his feet and of course he’s following. 

All the energy that was gone just a second ago seems to have rejuvenated itself back into Tim’s muscles, and he’s practically bouncing as he goes to the living room and turns on his little handheld speaker. A few taps on his phone and music comes through, slower and smoother than it was at the club. 

“This is a bit of a mood change,” Martin says, leaning against the doorframe.

Tim is already swaying and humming, closing his eyes and singing the jumbled few words he knows. “Good or bad?”

“I mean, it’s not bad,” he says. “Just a bit—well, seductive, for just the two of us.”

Tim opens one eye and grins, still swaying. “Maybe that’s the exact vibe the two of us should be going for.”

Martin’s face heats. 

The problem is—

Even if he didn’t have a very annoying _thing_ for Tim, which he had been somewhat successfully repressing for weeks now, anybody flirting with him so boldly would be off-putting, much less somebody as beautiful as Tim is. Plus, he is looking quite a bit less put-together right now than he ever does in the office, his hair messy and his shirt still tantalizingly unbuttoned, and it’s doing something funny to Martin’s stomach. 

After a few seconds of no reaction, Tim reaches for Martin’s hands, pulling him lightly into motion. Martin obliges, moving to the music with him, huffing out a laugh when Tim sings the lyrics wrong. 

“Shut up,” Tim laughs gently, letting go of one of his hands so he can halfheartedly punch at his shoulder. He doesn’t move his hand. 

Martin has been avoiding eye contact rather well up till now, glancing at his own feet, at the wall behind Tim, at anywhere except his eyes. He doesn’t now. He looks up to find Tim already staring at him, his pupils still wide and dark with alcohol.

Tim leans in, and—

Leans his head on Martin’s shoulder. Right.

He’s still swaying, and Martin finds himself instinctively moving in sync with him, matching the beat of the music and the rise and fall of Tim’s chest, nearly pressed to his. He moves a hand up to run through his hair again, and Tim sighs contentedly.

He murmurs something, but Martin doesn’t quite catch it with his face pressed into his shirt. “Hm?”

Tim turns his head. “Said you’re a good dancer,” he says, and goosebumps break out across Martin’s skin as his breath hits his neck. “And you smell good.”

“So do you,” Martin says. “I dunno if this really counts as dancing, though.”

“What would you call it, then?”

Martin half-shrugs, using only one shoulder so he doesn’t jostle Tim. “Swaying. Just standing more than anything, really.”

“It’s a slow dance.”

“Oh, a slow dance, is it?” Martin says. “Like in grade school? Our form isn’t very good.”

Tim lifts his head and looks at him for a second, a smile tugging at his lips. With a look that says _fine_ he reaches for Martin’s hands and places them both on his waist, then loops both of his own around his shoulders. Their faces are close.

“Is this form okay?” he says, smirking a bit, though the smile in his eyes is genuine. “We could do the one where we hold one hand out, too, but personally I like this way better.”

“No, this is—I like this,” Martin says. His face is pink again. “This is fine.”

“Mmm,” Tim hums, and with no way to lay his head down again, he just keeps looking into Martin’s eyes.

Martin breathes in, thinking absently that he definitely knows this song, but not a single word of it is coming to him. All that’s running through his mind is _Tim_ and _close_ and _smells good_ and _calm down don’t be weird_.

After a few minutes, Tim’s brow furrows a little, the humor leaving his expression, and he takes a breath. “Martin?” he says, voice quiet. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he says, then clears his throat. It comes out more softly than he wanted.

Tim inhales again. “Just—do I…”

Martin waits for him to continue. His face shifts to a kind of resolution, and he refixes his gaze on Martin’s.

“Is this working?”

Martin blinks. “What?”

“Is this working? Any of this, the—the dancing, the music, the...shirt. Is it working?”

The swaying stops. Martin frowns. “What do you—”

“ _You,_ Martin,” Tim says. “I mean for _you_. Do I have a chance or not?”

His meaning clicks in Martin’s head, and in his moment of surprise he drops his hands from Tim’s side.

Tim, apparently, takes this as a sign of rejection, and he self-consciously withdraws his arms from around Martin’s neck and steps back. “I’m only asking this because I’m drunk and I know sober me wouldn’t do it,” he says, looking off to the side. “If you’re not interested, that’s fine, I promise, I won’t make anything weird at work or anything. I know you—We can forget it as soon as we leave this room, I just wanted to...to tell you. That I like you. So.”

The space between them is so regrettably large. “You’ve been hitting on me?”

An embarrassed expression crosses Tim’s face, but he nods. “Yeah,” he admits. “For weeks.”

Martin laughs. He can’t help it. Tim’s eyes dart back up to him, looking apprehensive, but Martin rushes to assure him. “I just didn’t realize,” he says. “I—I’ve been convincing myself I was making it up.”

Tim’s brow smooths out in a pleased kind of relief. “Well,” he says. “I mean, I was trying to take it slow.”

“You are good at that, at least in terms of dancing,” Martin jokes, and Tim snorts. He opens his mouth to say something.

Martin steps forward and kisses him. It’s soft, their lips closed and gentle, and when Martin slides his hands back to Tim’s waist like they had been when they were dancing, he resumes his own position, circling his arms around Martin’s neck, keeping him close. They relax into each other.

And then Martin pulls away just as quickly, remembering himself. “Shit, sorry,” he says. “Shouldn’t have done that. You’re drunk.”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Tim whines, but doesn’t push it. 

“We can talk more tomorrow,” Martin promises. “If you want. No rush.”

“I’m going to have a massive hangover tomorrow,” Tim groans. “Guess you’ll have to, uh. Kiss it better. Was that smooth?”

“Not even a little,” Martin says. “But you can stay over anyway. _I suppose._ ”

Tim grins. He leans in to peck Martin on the lips again, bastard that he is, and then sighs happily, “Thank you.”

“’Course,” Martin says, and nudges him back to the bedroom, where they’ve fallen asleep together many times before. Tonight, though, he knows he’s going to fall asleep holding Tim in his arms, and wake up tangled together and stay that way.

Martin grins as he lies down, and presses a kiss to Tim’s hair.

  


**Author's Note:**

> recommended listening I Don't Know Why (Ellis Remix) by NOTD lmao. massive thanks to my fellow server members who organized this week i love you :) comments and kudos if you enjoyed!


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